


the strange and practical uses of magic

by toboldlywrite



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: ...these tags got a little out of hand, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, F/F, I have so many emotions about Muggleborn Peggy Carter, I'll probably end up writing more in this AU let's be real, Muggle-born, and also Beater Peggy Carter, and just Peggy Carter in general, is she good or bad? who knows? not me not yet, posting this before any of it gets jossed, specifically the Dottie part
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-28
Updated: 2015-01-28
Packaged: 2018-03-09 09:39:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3244886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toboldlywrite/pseuds/toboldlywrite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hogwarts AU.  Seven snapshots of seven years.  Cartinelli-centric, but other characters make appearances.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the strange and practical uses of magic

**I.**

The train clatters over the tracks as Peggy shuts the door to her compartment. She was quite lucky to find an empty one. The last thing she feels like doing at the moment is sitting silently in a car full of people she doesn't know - or, worse, talking to them. She knows it's ridiculous, but she imagines they can tell she's a Muggle-born, as if she's got some sort of mark on her face or she sends out a beacon or something.

_That's not true in the slightest, of course_ , Ms. McGonagall (Professor, oops) said when she came to talk to Peggy's parents, right after she shocked them by turning into a cat. _Some of our most talented witches and wizards have been Muggle-borns. I have no doubt, Miss Carter, that you will be among them._

Peggy appreciates the vote of confidence, but she'd rather prove her merits herself than take McGonagall's word for it.

She picks out a book from her bulging bag ( _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ , it's called - the title is almost like a promise), stretches out so she's lying on the entire seat, and opens the book. It's about a seven-hour journey to Hogwarts, by her estimation. She can work her way through the books in her bag, easily.

The door slides open then. Peggy sits up hurriedly and slams the book shut as a girl with curly brown hair and the greenest green eyes she's ever seen pokes her head in. "Hey, every other compartment is chock-full, mind if I-"

The train lurches, and the girl loses her balance, tumbling into the compartment along with her trunk and book bag. She barely has time to let out a squeak, though, before Peggy's hands shoot out and catch her by the shoulders.  The girl’s trunk falls on Peggy’s big toe, and she bites back a word her mother would never let her say.

The girl looks stunned for a moment, but then a big grin overtakes her face.  “Thanks,” she chirps, straightening up and plopping herself onto the opposite seat.  “That would have been some luck right there, getting to Hogwarts with a chipped tooth or something.”

Her accent is strange - American, maybe.  “Yes, it would have been,” Peggy agrees, gingerly pushing the heavy trunk off her big toe.  “Where are you from exactly?  You don’t sound like you’re from around here.”

“No kidding, English,” the girl replies.  “New York City, born and raised.  The name’s Angie Martinelli.  And you are?” she adds.  “Besides English, I mean.”

Peggy smiles.  “Peggy Carter.”

She _was_ looking forward to seven hours of peace and quiet, but she doesn’t think she’ll mind Angie’s company.

**II.**

“You have a little-”  Peggy leans forward and points at the right side of Angie’s mouth (her left, rather, and Peggy’s right - god, that’s confusing).

Angie’s brow furrows.  “Wait, I - oh.  Gotcha.”  She reaches for the nearest napkin and dabs once at her mouth.  The sizeable chocolate ice cream stain disappears instantly, confirming Peggy’s suspicions that all Florean Fortescue’s napkins are enchanted.  “Did I get it?” she asks.

Peggy nods.  “Completely gone.”

A piercing guffaw from down the road startles both of them, and Peggy’s hand clutches tighter at her book bag under the table.  Hopefully Jack and Krzeminski won’t see them (haven’t already seen them).  They’d been the only blights on her first year at Hogwarts.

“Look who it is.  The Yankee and the Mudblood, back again.”

They _had_ seen them already.  Bloody hell.  That wipes the grin off Angie’s face faster than the napkin had wiped off the ice cream.  “Keep walking,” Peggy snaps as they reach the table.  “I’m sure there’s a baby Krup or two for you to kick down the street.”

Jack just grins lazily.  “C’mon, Carter.  House loyalty, remember?”  As if Peggy needed another reminder that both Jack and Krzeminski are Gryffindors like her.  “‘Course, that doesn’t matter for you, does it?” he adds, turning to Angie.  His eyes are on the yellow and black stripes adorning her sweater cuffs.

“Good thing,” Krzeminski says with an ugly chuckle.  “A Mudblood in Gryffindor is one thing, but a Yankee?  I’m surprised Hufflepuff even took you.”

Peggy springs out of her seat so fast she knocks the chair over.  Before Krzeminski can react, she has his shirt collar in her grip.  “Stop it,” she snarls.

Krzeminski smirks, but his eyes are a little wider than normal.  “Or what?  You’ll hex me?”

Peggy’s blood is boiling, yes, but it’s not from magic.  “No,” she says.  “We Mudbloods-” she spits the word - “have other ways of dealing with people we don’t like.”  She lets go of his collar, and Krzeminski takes a step back, unmistakable relief washing over his face.

Peggy draws her fist back and punches Krzeminski square in the nose.

He stumbles backward with a cry, tripping over a table stand and falling on his rear.  Jack’s infuriating grin is immediately replaced by a look of alarm, and his hand flies for his wand pocket.  He’s too late, though - Peggy has already grabbed her book bag from under the table.  She swings it at him and hits him in the gut.  He doubles over with a gasp, his wand falling out of his pocket and landing with a clatter on the flagstones.  Peggy’s sorely tempted for a moment to step on it, but she decides to save that for another day instead, for a worse offense.

“Come on, Angie,” she says quietly.  “Let’s get out of here.”  And she and Angie grab their bags and slip around the corner of Florean’s before Jack and Krzeminski have even gotten their breath back.

“That was amazing, English,” Angie says once they’ve made it to the other end of Diagon Alley.  “Where did you learn to do that?”

Peggy shrugs.  “A true magician never reveals her secrets,” she quips, making Angie throw back her head and laugh.

“See, this is why I hang out with you,” Angie sputters once she’s recovered some semblance of dignity.  “Can we just stay friends forever?”

Peggy nods, smiling faintly.  “Of course,” she replies.  “We freaks have to stick together, right?”

She says it so lightly, but she means every word of it.

**III.**

“Happy Christmas, Angie!”  Peggy sails into the Great Hall, hunched over a bit due to the small yet heavy sack slung over her shoulder.  Angie is already sitting at a table on the far side of the hall, staring into the fire, but she whirls around when she hears Peggy.

“Why do you English people always say ‘happy Christmas’ instead of ‘merry Christmas’?” she says, but her face has already brightened.

“No idea,” Peggy replies breezily.  She sets the sack down in front of Angie and sits beside her.  “Time for presents, though!”

Angie laughs.  “I wonder what your folks got me this year,” she says, reaching into the bag and pulling out a gigantic plastic-bound book with “Real Book” emblazoned on the front.  Her jaw drops, and she opens the front cover almost reverently.  “You’re kidding me,” she whispers.  “You are kidding me.”

The awed look on her face sends a warm shiver down Peggy’s back.  “No, I’m not,” she replies.  “They loved hearing you sing last Christmas.”

“They sent this all the way from Australia?”  Angie turns a few of the pages.  “That must have cost a fortune.”

Peggy knows Angie doesn’t exactly come from a lot of money.  There’s a reason she’s never been able to go home to New York for Christmas.  “Don’t worry about that,” Peggy says gently.  “It’s Christmas, Angie.”

“That’s right,” Angie agrees as her fingers glide over the notes for “All The Things You Are.”  Then she perks up and fumbles in her dressing-gown pocket.  “I almost forgot, I have something for you too,” she says.  “I know I put it - ah!”  She pulls out a soft red bag the size of her fist and hands it to Peggy, who tugs at the mouth of the bag and pulls out… a roll of stretchy cloth bandages.

“I’m assuming you’ve done something with these?” she says.  The sly grin on Angie’s face is a dead giveaway.

“Yep,” Angie replies proudly.  “Charmed ‘em.  Not only will these protect your hands way better than normal bandages would during a fistfight-” Peggy grins, for she does indeed get into a lot of fistfights - “but they’ll also shield you from a lot of basic spells and hexes.”

Peggy can’t believe what she’s hearing.  “So you’re telling me I can punch a hex right out of the air?” she says incredulously.  Angie nods happily.  “My God, Angie, how on earth did you manage this?  That has to be some complicated spellwork.”

“Oh, nothing I couldn’t handle,” Angie replies nonchalantly.  “I just had to plan it out beforehand and ask Flitwick about a few things.”

Peggy is floored.  “Thank you, Angie,” she says, practically throwing herself at the girl and hugging her tightly.  “Happy Christmas indeed.”

“That’s ‘Merry Christmas’ to you, English,” Angie replies, and Peggy giggles.

**IV.**

Peggy does her best to ignore the commotion in the stands as she zooms across the field, her left hand firmly on her slightly quivering broomstick and her right hand on her club.  She wishes they didn’t have to wear these ridiculous robes to play - they’re slowing her down.

“Carter!  I’ve got one!”  The voice is Jack’s; he zips by her right then, hunched over the Quaffle.  A Bludger is about seven meters behind him.

“Got it!” Peggy yells back, steering herself into the Bludger’s path.  Gripping the broom even tighter with her knees, she peels her left hand off the handle.  She teeters a little bit, and her stomach swoops.  If she falls now, she’ll break three bones at the very least.

But she has to do it this way.  She takes a quick, deep breath and remembers what Angie told her about American baseball.   _First off, you gotta use two hands, English._  Her left hand grips the stem of the bat.   _Over the shoulder, and keep your eye on the ball._  Peggy readies the bat.  The Bludger is coming horribly fast, and for a moment she’s terrified she won’t hit it on time.

It’s a meter away now.  She swings the bat as hard as she can, twisting her upper body so far she turns her whole broom around.

_Crack!_

The bat connects with a sound louder than any Peggy’s ever heard, and the Bludger whizzes all the way to the other end of the pitch.  The Slytherin Seeker, obviously unprepared for the Bludger to go that far, takes it straight in the stomach and falls through one of the goals.  The whole Gryffindor crowd cheers, but Peggy can hear Angie over everyone else.  She sees her in the stands, resplendent in Gryffindor gold with her other Hufflepuff friend Jarvis beside her, punching the air and roaring.

_Home run_ , Peggy thinks with a grin as she flies off in search of the other Bludger.

**V.**

Peggy wishes for a lot of things when she's in Astronomy and sees her first star of the night. Good O.W.L. results in every class, ballpoint pens (she's still mad at Krzeminski for stepping on her last pen two weeks ago), a decent night's sleep. Today, though, she just wishes she could spend a day in Hogsmeade window-shopping or walking around like everyone else, instead of holing up in the Three Broomsticks all day. Tutoring her friends in Defense Against the Dark Arts is profitable, to be sure - she hasn't had to buy herself a drink in two months - but it's really cutting into her free time.

Angie tugs at her coat sleeve. "Hey English, you think my aunt would like a box of Chocolate Frogs for her birthday? Or what about those things?" She points to the fizzy spinning candy wheels in the window of Honeydukes.

"Maybe go for something a little less mobile," Peggy murmurs, craning her neck so she can see over the crowd. Jarvis promised to meet her at the Three Broomsticks at 3 pm sharp, which for him means ten minutes early. Sure enough, he's pacing in a tight little circle outside the door, fiddling with the fringe on his scarf. "Look, I have to go," she says, still looking at him, "or else Jarvis will wear a bloody hole in the ground."

"Do you have to, Peggy?"

Angie’s voice is unusually plaintive. Peggy turns to look at her and immediately regrets it. Angie has a bad habit of looking like a lost puppy, and it gets her every time. "Yes, I have to," she responds, a little sharper than she intended. "I promised both Jarvis and Sousa that I'd help them out today. I told you that."

"Fine." Angie’s voice is level, but Peggy knows her too well not to detect a note of petulance. "Have fun with Jarvis," she adds. "I'll see you back at the castle." She turns without another word and heads into Honeydukes.

Jarvis smiles with relief when Peggy reaches him. "I wasn't sure you were going to come," he says, still worrying his scarf.

Peggy rolls her eyes. "Don't be silly," she replies. "I'm right on time."

"Is Angie okay?" he asks as they walk into the pub.  “She didn’t look terribly happy.”

She hasn’t looked particularly happy for a while.  Peggy sighs.  “I hope she’s okay.”

**VI.**

Peggy is glad Professor Fry didn’t think to come by her cauldron.  The woman’s presence always stresses her out, even on a good day, and today’s assignment is demanding enough without anyone breathing over her shoulder.  She seems to have done all right, though - the liquid in her little cauldron has the right sort of pearly sheen, and the steam spirals.  Just like the book said it would.

“Psst, Peggy!  What did you do on the last step?”  Dottie, next to her, is hunched over her own cauldron, her puffy blonde hair downright wild by now.  Her steam is spiraling, but in the wrong direction.  “I can’t get it to work!” she whispers frantically.

“Give it one stir in the opposite direction,” Peggy says quietly.

Dottie obeys, and the steam spirals change direction.  “Thank you so, so much,” she says, beaming so hugely her face looks ready to split open.  “You’re the best, Peggy.”

Peggy resists the urge to sigh.  It’s not that she necessarily regrets getting back at Krzeminski for turning Dottie’s shoes into toads.  (Heaven knows Peeves was eager enough to fill his bed with actual toads when she asked.)  She just didn’t anticipate that Dottie would follow her around like a particularly clingy puppy after the fact.  She hadn’t even been particularly knight-in-shining-armor about it, as Angie would put it.  Angie, for her part, is in the row ahead of her, staring with an almost frightening intensity into her potion.

“Time’s up!” Professor Fry calls from the front of the room, clapping her hands.  “I will, of course, be coming by to inspect your cauldrons personally, but from here it looks like a decent batch of potions.  Good work, class.  Now, it should be safe for you to lean in close to your cauldron and sniff.”

Peggy bends down a little and sniffs deeply, and the twin scents of rhubarb and peach almost overwhelm her.  She straightens up hurriedly, coughing into the sleeve of her sweater and hoping Professor Fry doesn’t notice.  She’s smelled these before, not just individually but in concert.  Where, though?

“Mr. Sousa,” Professor Fry asks, “what does your potion smell like?”

Sousa snaps to attention, straightening his blue tie.  “Firewood and… hm.”  He frowns thoughtfully.  “Old books, I think.”

“Very good.  And you, Mr. Jarvis?”

Jarvis sighs happily.  “It smells like scotch and fresh laundry and Anna’s shampoo-”

“Thank you, Mr. Jarvis,” Professor Fry interrupts.  Peggy has to hold back a snicker.  Jarvis has only been dating Anna Zelensky for a few months, but he’s already sure (as he told Peggy last week, over his seventh Butterbeer) that they’re going to get married.  Behind her, she hears Howard Stark sniff at his potion again.  If she knows him at all, it smells like money, both crisp like banknotes and tangy like wizarding coins.

Professor Fry scans the room, looking as if she’s about to call on someone else, but then she makes a shooing motion with her hands.  “All right, don’t forget your essays on steam colors and patterns for next class,” she says as thirty stools scrape across the floor.

Angie catches up with Peggy at the door.  “That was way too hard,” she complains.  “It has to be way beyond N.E.W.T. level.  Why are we even covering it?”

Peggy’s about to reply, but she catches a whiff of something familiar, and her words die in her throat.

Angie smells like rhubarb and peach.

**VII.**

“Come on, do it again!”  Howard’s delighted yells echo across the lake as the giant squid’s tentacles splash on the surface, sprinkling them all with water.  They’re all on the lawn - Sousa with his crutches cast to one side and his pant legs rolled up, Jarvis and Anna sitting side by side and playing Exploding Snap, Howard hurling stones into the lake in an effort to get the squid to do tricks.  Angie and Peggy have dared to let their feet dangle in the lake, so they get soaked by the squid every time it surfaces.  Peggy doesn’t care about that, though.  Angie’s ankle nudges hers every few seconds, and it makes her feel warmer than magic ever has.

“So what’s next?” Angie says softly, trailing her foot over the water.  “N.E.W.T.s are done.  School is done.  I mean, they keep telling us, all of us, that we’re prime candidates for Ministry jobs, but…”  She trails off and stares beyond the lake, at the grounds and the bright orange sunset.

“But that can’t be all there is for us,” Peggy supplies.  She’s had this thought many a time as well.  “Right?”

“Right,” Angie confirms.  Her hand finds Peggy’s and squeezes it.  “I just don’t want to be stuck only hanging around wizards and witches all day, y’know?  I did that for seven years.  And obviously there are some witches I don’t mind hanging around-” she bumps Peggy’s shoulder with hers and grins - “but… well, you know what I mean.”

Peggy nods.  She knows exactly what Angie means.  She’d be surprised if any of them end up in the Ministry, honestly.  She and Sousa have both been taking correspondence classes from Muggle schools since the summer after third year (her parents insisted that she at least learn algebra).  Sousa’s more than cut out for something involving math rather than arithmancy.  Howard’s Ravenclaw brain is simply too big for the wizarding world alone.  Jarvis doesn’t care where he ends up, so long as he’s with Anna.

As for her and Angie…

“I heard from my mother that auditions for _The Wizard of Oz_ are happening the week after I get back,” Angie muses.  “You think I’d be a good Dorothy?”

She clicks her heels above the water, and Peggy laughs.  “You could play a flying monkey and still steal the show,” she replies, draping an arm over Angie’s shoulders.  “Now, me?  I’d rather like to be a spy.”

Angie giggles as she rests her head on Peggy’s shoulder.  “Seriously, English?”

“Absolutely,” Peggy replies in a mock-affronted tone.  “A bit of magic could be a very handy thing for a spy to have.”

“Oh, be real,” Angie snorts.  “Half the time, you punch people’s lights out instead of stupefying them.”

“True,” Peggy admits.

They sit like that for a while, watching the lake ripple, listening to their friends laugh on the lawn behind them.  As the sun starts to sink below the horizon, Peggy says quietly, “I’d also quite like to see New York.”

Angie sits up and positively beams at Peggy.  “And I can’t wait to show it to you,” she replies, sliding her hand behind Peggy’s neck and kissing her.  She tastes like the rhubarb pie they made from scratch earlier, and when Peggy pulls back just slightly, she can see a whole future in her eyes.


End file.
